Rainbow Bridge poem

 

Living Love If you ever love an animal, there are three days in your life you will always remember... The first is a day, blessed with happiness, when you bring home your young new friend. You may have spent weeks deciding on a breed. You may have asked numerous opinions of many vets, or done long research in finding a breeder. Or, perhaps in a fleeting moment, you may have just chosen that silly looking mutt in a shelter--simply because something in its eyes reached your heart. But when you bring that chosen pet home, and watch it explore, and claim its special place in your hall or front room--and when you feel it brush against you for the first time--it instills a feeling of pure love you will carry with you through the many years to come. The second day will occur eight or nine or ten years later. It will be a day like any other. Routine and unexceptional. But, for a surprising instant, you will look at your longtime friend and see age where you once saw youth. You will see slow deliberate steps where you once saw energy. And you will see sleep where you once saw activity. So you will begin to adjust your friend's diet--and you may add a pill or two to her food. And you may feel a growing fear deep within yourself, which bodes of a coming emptiness. And you will feel this uneasy feeling, on and off, until the third day finally arrives. And on this day--if your friend and God have not decided for you, then you will be faced with making a decision of your own--on behalf of your lifelong friend, and with the guidance of your own deepest Spirit. But whichever way your friend eventually leaves you---you will feel as alone as a single star in the dark night. If you are wise, you will let the tears flow as freely and as often as they must. And if you are typical, you will find that not many in your circle of family or friends will be able to understand your grief, or comfort you. But if you are true to the love of the pet you cherished through the many joy-filled years, you may find that a soul--a bit smaller in size than your own---seems to walk with you, at times, during the lonely days to come. And at moments when you least expect anything our of the ordinary to happen, you may feel something brush against your leg--very very lightly. And looking down at the place where your dear, perhaps dearest, friend used to lay---you will remember those three significant days. The memory will most likely be painful, and leave an ache in your heart---As time passes the ache will come and go as it has a life of its own. You will both reject it and embrace it, and it may confuse you. If you reject it, it will depress you. If you embrace it, it will deepen you. Either way, it will still be an ache. But there will be, I assure you, a fourth day when---along with the memory of your pet---and piercing through the heaviness in your heart---there will come a realization that belongs only to you. It will be as unique and strong as our relationship with each animal we have loved, and lost. This realization takes the form of a Living Love---like the heavenly scent of a rose that remains after the petals have wilted, this Love will remain and grow--and be there for us to remember. It is a love we have earned. It is the legacy our pets leave us when they go. And it is a gift we may keep with us as long as we live. It is a Love which is ours alone. And until we ourselves leave, perhaps to join our Beloved Pets--it is a Love that we will always possess. -Written by Martin Scot Kosins, Author of "Maya's First Rose"

 

 

The Journey When you bring a pet into your life, you begin a journey - a journey that will bring you more love and devotion than you have ever known, yet also test your strength and courage. If you allow, the journey will teach you many things, about life, about yourself, and most of all, about love. You will come away changed forever, for one soul cannot touch another without leaving its mark. Along the way, you will learn much about savoring life's simple pleasures -jumping in leaves, snoozing in the sun, the joys of puddles, and even the satisfaction of a good scratch behind the ears. If you spend much time outside, you will be taught how to truly experience every element, for no rock, leaf, or log will go unexamined, no rustling bush will be overlooked, and even the very air will be inhaled, pondered, and noted as being full of valuable information. Your pace may be slower - except when heading home to the food dish - but you will become a better naturalist, having been taught by an expert in the field. Too many times we hike on automatic pilot, our goal being to complete the trail rather than enjoy the journey. We miss the details - the colorful mushrooms on the rotting log, the honeycomb in the old maple snag, the hawk feather caught on a twig. Once we walk as a dog does, we discover a whole new world. We stop; we browse the landscape, we kick over leaves, peek in tree holes, look up, down, all around. And we learn what any dog knows: that nature has created a marvelously complex world that is full of surprises, that each cycle of the seasons bring ever changing wonders, each day an essence all its own. Even from indoors you will find yourself more attuned to the world around you. You will find yourself watching summer insects collecting on a screen.(How bizarre they are! How many kinds there are!), or noting the flick and flash of fireflies through the dark. You will stop to observe the swirling dance of windblown leaves, or sniff the air after a rain. It does not matter that there is no objective in this; the point is in the doing, in not letting life's most important details slip by. You will find yourself doing silly things that your pet-less friends might not understand: spending thirty minutes in the grocery aisle looking for the cat food brand your feline must have, buying dog birthday treats, or driving around the block an extra time because your pet enjoys the ride. You will roll in the snow, wrestle with chewie toys, bounce little rubber balls till your eyes cross, and even run around the house trailing your bathrobe tie - with a cat in hot pursuit, all in the name of love. Your house will become muddier and hairier. You will wear less dark clothing and buy more lint rollers. You may find dog biscuits in your pocket or purse, and feel the need to explain that an old plastic shopping bag adorns your living room rug because your cat loves the crinkly sound. You will learn the true measure of love - the steadfast, undying kind that says, "It doesn't matter where we are or what we do, or how life treats us as long as we are together." Respect this always. It is the most precious gift any living soul can give another. You will not find it often among the human race. And you will learn humility. The look in my dog's eyes often made me feel ashamed. Such joy and love at my presence. She saw not some flawed human who could be cross and stubborn, moody or rude, but only her wonderful companion. Or maybe she saw those things and dismissed them as mere human foibles, not worth considering, and so chose to love me anyway. If you pay attention and learn well, when the journey is done, you will be not just a better person, but the person your pet always knew you to be - the one they were proud to call beloved friend. I must caution you that this journey is not without pain. Like all paths of true love, the pain is part of loving. For as surely as the sun sets, one day your dear animal companion will follow a trail you cannot yet go down. And you will have to find the strength and love to let them go. A pet's time on earth is far too short - especially for those that love them. We borrow them, really, just for awhile, and during these brief years they are generous enough to give us all their love, every inch of their spirit and heart, until one day there is nothing left. The cat that only yesterday was a kitten is all too soon old and frail and sleeping in the sun. The young pup of boundless energy wakes up stiff and lame, the muzzle now gray. Deep down we somehow always knew that this journey would end. We knew that if we gave our hearts they would be broken. But give them we must for it is all they ask in return. When the time comes, and the road curves ahead to a place we cannot see, we give one final gift and let them run on ahead - young and whole once more. "Godspeed, good friend," we say, until our journey comes full circle and our paths cross again.   Chrystal Ward Kent (Copyright 1999.)

The Minstrel

Once upon a time, not too long ago, there lived a lad who fancied himself a minstrel. He traveled from place to place playing his music for anyone that would listen. One day he traveled to the far off city of Fort Worth, in the land of Texas.
There he met a king that was a dog rancher. The king invited the minstrel to his castle to visit and perform for his subjects. One day the minstrel wandered into the castle courtyard, where the king kept his dogs. He noticed there was a large litter of puppies all laying around listless and not very excitable... Except for one.
In the corner of the courtyard, where the stairs met the ground was a large, wet pile of old carpet weighing at least 100 pounds. And there, fighting and growling and pulling with all his fierce might, was a 4 or 5 week old German Sheppard puppy, trying to intimidate this large pile of trash. The minstrel was so impressed with this little titan that he pleaded with the king for possession of it. Finally, after two weeks of constant pestering, the king decided the pup was old enough and reluctantly gave in; for 25 credits of worth. This, the minstrel thought this was a gift, and enthustiaclly paid; and then immediately left so as to not give the king an opportunity to reconsider.
In the days that followed, the minstrel and the pup were inseparable. They went everywhere, and did everything together. They became the perfect pair, and as the pup got older they developed, through bonding, a communication that was almost telepathic.
As he matured, the young dogs personality became almost self serviant. He did just about anything he wanted to do, which caused some minor conflict with the minstrel; but for the most part he seemed almost human with his intelligence and willingness to please.
As the years passed, the minstrel settled into his own castle, and the dog became the sentry. He knew his territory and patrolled his boundaries regularly, allowing no-one to enter without his scrutiny and approval. At night he would come to the minstrels bed and make sure everything was okay before making his rounds. He knew the placement of everything in the castle, and nothing could be moved without his on-looking.
The dog had many playful past times including playing ball and fetching a stick, but his all time favorite game was Frizbee. He loved this game so much that the word Frizbee couldn't even be spelled in his presence, without causing a big ruckus.
One day while playing frizbee the minstrel noticed the dog limping and favoring his hind legs. After examining the dog and finding nothing obviously wrong, the minstrel took the dog to the village vet, where he was diagnosed as having hip dysplasia; a common affliction in large dogs as they get older. Hip dysplasia is a genetic malalignnment of the hips and is untreatable. Nothing could be done, except to not over-exert the animal. The minstrel did as much as possible to make the dogs life easier, and so it was... Nice and easy.

One summer night the minstrel and the dog were enjoying the warm night air in the castle living room, when the dog bolted, like lightning, out the back door. He could be heard barking off in the distance. The minstrel went out to investigate and discovered the back gate was opened and the dog was gone. Someone had tried to enter the castle. The minstrel tried to follow on foot, but the dog had too great a head start. So the minstrel returned home for the cart, and searched the entire area for him. He was no-where to be found. After thoroughly scouring the countryside, the minstrel returned home and called the sheriff, as he was worried that the dog, trained to attack, might bite someone innocently. The sheriff reassured him and started a search of his own. Both searched for several hours to no avail, and given the circumstances, it was concluded that something must have happened. When the minstrel returned home, he discovered to his delight, the dog was waiting for him on the front porch, none the worse for wear, tail wagging, happy to be home. This was the last they were troubled with prowlers.

Both lived happily together for the next several years with no real incidents happening to trouble either of them. The dog was so much a part of the family, the minstrel treated him almost like a son. After all he was easily as smart as a small child, though somewhat a spoiled brat. But this made the minstrel love him even more.
They had been together 13 years, this man and his dog; and thiers had been a very special kind of relationship. The dog was getting so up in years that the minstrel began to wonder just how long he could live; and began to prepare himself for the day he would be without his best friend. It was impossible to imagine.

One day the dog started to gorge himself on water. Gallons and gallons of it. Then a few minutes later he regurgitated every bit of it. Then he gorged himself again, with the same results. This happened several times, and the minstrel became very worried. The dog seemed okay; very playful and alert. He just couldn't hold down the water, of which he couldn't get enough. And he wouldn't eat... At all. The next day he showed all the same symptoms so the minstrel took him to the vet. The prognosis was not good at all. The dog had developed a twist in his esophogus; nothing could reach his stomach. The vet could operate to correct the problem, but it would be very expensive; and may, at best, only buy the dog a few months. There was a slight chance the problem would correct itself, but this was very remote and the vet suggested euthanasia. That was un-thinkable, and they returned home praying for a miracle.
Deep down the minstrel knew his time with his pal was limited, so he payed him extra special, loving attention. He spent day and night with him, holding him, petting him and talking to him as he had done for many years. But the dog was getting weaker and weaker. He would go outside to potty and couldn't even climb the few stairs to get back in. He began staggering and stumbling, just standing up. He lost a lot of weight in just two days... But he never gave up.
That evening the minstrel painfully decided if his friend wasn't any better by morning he had to accept the the vets recommendation. It was much better than to watch him waste away and die of starvation, though many, many times more difficult than anything he had ever done before. He felt sick and empty inside.
That night the minstrel hardly slept at all. He kept tossing and turning. The next morning he awoke abruptly, several hours early. He was dazed and light-headed, almost drunk feeling. Operating on some unknown programming he called for the dog. Here he came, weak and pathetic, but he had that glow in his eyes. He was happy to see his master; his friend, who promptly gave him a major hug. Fearing the worst the minstrel gave him a fresh bowl of his favorite food. The dog wouldn't eat. The minstrel gave him a bowl of cool water. The dog guzzled it... Then promptly regurgitated.
No change.
That was it then.
The most dreaded moment.

Without thinking or feeling the minstrel got dressed and called the vet. He was there. Then the minstrel called the dog.
"Ya wanna go bye bye?" The dog perked right up. The minstrel opened the door and the dog went straight for the wagon, stumbling all the way, but tail wagging, happy to go for a ride with his trusted partner. Too weak to jump, the minstrel picked him up and put him in the wagon. Now for the long, long 2 block ride to the vet.
When they arrived the minstrel, leaving the dog in the wagon, went inside to make the arrangements. When he returned the dog was cowering behind the seat. He had a look in his eyes... He knew...
Somehow he knew.

That look stabbed the minstrel to the core of his heart. It hurt. He called, but the dog wouldn't come. He called again, trying to hide his pain. The dog still wouldn't come. He just lay there, looking, as if to say, "Please daddy!" The minstrel looked away, but he could hear the dogs thoughts... "Why?" The minstrel took a deep breath, and choked a dry swallow. He climbed into the wagon, and picked his buddy up. The dog was so trusting. This seemed like the ultimate betrayal. The Minstrel carried the dog inside to where the vet had a room ready... DAMN! No waiting this time. He layed the dog down on the table. Almost immediately the vet appeared, and started his job. The minstrel couldn't stand it. He asked the vet to wait until he had gone. With stinging tears in his eyes the minstrel cupped the big dogs head in his hands. He looked deep into those big brown eyes for the last time, and saw unconditional love. The dog looked back as if to say, "I'm sorry, daddy... I love you". The minstrel leaned down and kissed him between the ears and whispered, "Good bye old dog... You are the best. I love you." He turned and walked away.

Sampson is buried at Smoke Hill Pet Cemetary in Azle, Texas.

Michael Turney

 

The Last Will & Testament of an Extremely Loved Dog

I, Silverdene Emblem O'Neill (familiarly known to my family, friends & acquaintances as Blemie), because the burden of my years and infirmities is heavy upon me, and I realize the end of my life is near, do hereby bury my last will and testament in the mind of my Master. He will not know it is there until after I am dead. Then, remembering me in his loneliness, he will suddenly know of this testament, and I ask him to inscribe it as a memorial to me.

I have little in the way of material things to leave. Dogs are wiser than men. They do not set great store upon things. They do not waste their days hoarding property. They do not ruin their sleep worrying about how to keep the objects they have, and to obtain objects they have not. There is nothing of value I have to bequeath except my love and my loyalty. These I leave to all those who have loved me, especially to my Master and Mistress, who I know will mourn me the most.

I ask my Master and my Mistress to remember me always, but not to grieve for me too long. In my life, I have tried to be a comfort to them in time of sorrow, and a reason for added joy in their happiness. It is painful for me to think that even in death I should cause them pain. Let them remember that while no dog has ever had a happier life (and this I owe to their love and care for me), now that I have grown blind and deaf and lame, and even my sense of smell fails me so that a rabbit could be right under my nose and I might not know, my pride has sunk to a sick, bewildered humiliation. I feel life is taunting me with having overlingered my welcome. It is time I said good-bye, before I become too sick a burden on myself and on those who love me.

It will be a sorrow to leave them, but not a sorrow to die. Dogs do not fear death as men do. We accept it as part of life, not as something alien and terrible which destroys life. What may come after death, who knows?

I would like to believe that there is a Paradise. Where one is always young and full-bladdered. Where all the day one dillies and dallies. Where each blissful hour is mealtime. Where in the long evenings there are a million fireplaces with logs forever burning, and one curls oneself up and blinks into the flames and nods and dreams, remembering the old brave days on earth and the love of one's Master and Mistress.

I am afraid that this is too much for even such a dog as I am to expect. But peace, at least, is certain. Peace and a long rest for my weary old heart and head and limbs, and eternal sleep in the earth I have loved so well.

Perhaps, after all, this is best.

One last request, I earnestly make. I have heard my Mistress say, "When Blemie dies we must never have another dog. I love him so much I could never love another one". Now I would ask her, for love of me, to have another. It would be a poor tribute to my memory never to have a dog again. What I would like to feel is that, having once had me in the family, she cannot live without a dog! I have never had a narrow, jealous spirit. I have always held that most dogs are good. My successor can hardly be as well loved or as well mannered or as distinguished and handsome as I was in my prime. My Master and Mistress must not ask the impossible. But he will do his best, I am sure, and even his inevitable defects will help by comparison to keep my memory green.

To him I bequeath my collar and leash and my overcoat and raincoat He can never wear them with the distinction I did, all eyes fixed on me in admiration; but again I am sure he will do his utmost not to appear a mere gauche provincial dog. I hereby wish him the happiness I know will be his in my old home.

One last word of farewell, dear Master and Mistress. Whenever you visit my grave, say to yourselves with regret but also with happiness in your hearts at the remembrance of my long, happy life with you:

"Here lies one who loved us and whom we loved".

No matter how deep my sleep I shall hear you and not all the power of death can keep my spirit from wagging a grateful tail.

"I will always love you as only a dog can."

by Eugene O'Neill